I got the rare pleasure of thoughtless un-anticipation as I punched my employee number into the sign-in terminal just behind the receptionists’ desk. The terminal didn’t have a stool to reach, but after so long, I could do it all by feel. “CLAAAAAARK!” An all too familiar voice called out to me. Great. Time for another ritual.

I wasn’t comfortable around Mrs Zoge, or most Amazons, but at least Zoge was more or less professional in her own odd way. Miss Forrest, the school’s receptionist was a hungry cat looking for a mouse of its very own to play with. Second perhaps to only one other Amazon on campus, Miss Forrest was the person who most palpably wanted to see me out of a job and into a playpen. She was also proof that not all Amazons were brilliant.

So as not to seem panicked, I turned around and smiled. Tarnia shot me a look. It said: “Do you need help? I can make an excuse for us to walk away right now.” I smiled up at her. For real this time. She was able to read my confidence and started walking out front, leaving me to this game of cat and mouse.

Not all rituals were pleasant, but they had to be done. Grudging respect was better than no respect. Failing that, frustration might at least cause hesitation.

“Why hello, Miss Forrest,” I said. “How are you this fine morning?”

The receptionist wasted no time, (or subtlety). “My my, Clark, you look so stressed this morning. Are you okay?”

Of course I wasn’t okay. Amazons loved word traps and games of societal niceties. “Oh, you know,” I shrugged. “Just getting old. Nothing that I can’t handle. Though if you wanna talk stress, don’t get me started on those union negotiations, amiright?” A couple passerbys muttered agreement. “Like whose side are they on and where’s my money really going to?” More muttering. Office bitching. Another universal constant.

“I’m not Union,” Forrest said. Yeah. I knew that. But Beouf was Oakshire’s Teachers’ Union representative. Just saying the U word around her caused her ears perk up. She craned her neck just before walking out to the bus loop. Yeah, I said I didn’t need Tarnia’s help. Probably wouldn’t need Beoufs help, either. Better safe than sorry and alert them to what was going on. I gave Beouf a wink. She winked back. “Would you like some chocolate?” Forrest said, reaching into her purse. “I got it just for you.”

We Littles must have some kind of superpower when it comes to not rolling our eyes. Just for me? Really? Could it be any more obvious? “I really should be on a diet,” I said. “But the thought is appreciated.”

“I’m just offering you a gift,” Forrest said. “I thought it was something special that we could share.” I could practically see the venom dripping from her teeth. If I said one thing wrong, she’d try to twist my words around as me being “cranky” or “fussy” or “snippy”, and go from there.

“Well if we’re sharing,” I said. I held out my hand. Even Amazons weren’t baby crazy enough to go kamikaze and poison themselves. She placed the “gift” in my hand: A round box of chocolates, tamper evident plastic wrapping removed. I opened the lid.

The box was already missing a chocolate. A glance at the inside of the lid indicated that it was a “chili flake bonbon”. Amazons like spicy food. It might not be a fact based in biology, but it’s definitely present in their sociology.

I felt a knot form in my stomach. This was training chocolate. I just knew it. Every Little with an internet connection and an ounce of self preservation instinct knew about training chocolate. Like a certain little blue pill it was designed with one clientele in mind but found success in a completely different market.

It was originally marketed as a “gentle” and “subtle” laxative that tasted like candy to a toddler. The original commercials had said it would help in potty training because kids would need to use the toilet more often. Instead the stuff both irritated and numbed the bowels simultaneously.